


Faith

by Clocks



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocks/pseuds/Clocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has always believed Erik wouldn't harm him, but there are days when he has his doubts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arcapelago (arcanewinter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanewinter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Doubt](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/14930) by arcapelago. 



> This is based on an amazing fic written by [arcapelago](http://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanewinter/pseuds/arcapelago) called '[Doubt](http://arcapelago.livejournal.com/16345.html)', in which Magneto believes the Professor expects the worst of him and acts accordingly. Hers is written from Erik's POV, and it was so lovely that I wanted to write Charles' side of the story. We wrote the events a little differently, so if there are any continuity errors, it's all on me and not her. This also helped me with a major writing block I'm going through, so I'm very grateful to arcapelago.
> 
> Just a note that [arcapelago](http://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanewinter/pseuds/arcapelago) originally wrote this for megneato for the Airmail First Class exchange.
> 
> A warning for general mentions of violence (but not towards Charles).

They had all warned Charles not to go. Hank was positively sure that the Brotherhood would be up to something, while Alex and Scott were concerned about the anti-mutant factions picketing outside the Capitol building. “Some of them may have guns,” Alex said very seriously, letting the awful silence fill in the rest. But Charles had reassured them that he’d be able to sense the thoughts of anyone in the vicinity who was bent on viciously harming him, and he wasn’t above using a discreet mental nudge or two to ease his students’ worries. In the days leading up to the referendum, Hank still didn’t seem quite convinced, although Charles was reluctant to exert any further telepathic efforts to make him docile.

Sean was the one who accompanied Charles to DC, and Charles tried to mask his amusement at the bright flare of interest in Sean’s mind whenever a pretty girl was in the vicinity. But all too soon it would get clouded quickly with thoughts of the approaching referendum, which meant that mutant registration and identification could be a cold, hard reality in the near future. Charles meant to fight this as best as he could, because any other outcome would mean people needlessly getting hurt.

“Do you think they’ll be there?” Sean’s husky voice interrupted his thoughts, and Charles put aside the book he had been pretending to read. Sean’s face was half-slathered in shaving cream, his blade poised above his right cheek. He was staring hopefully at Charles in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, and even though Charles was a good many feet away, tucked in bed, he could see the glimmer of worry in Sean’s eyes. He didn’t need to skim Sean’s thoughts to know whom he was referring to.

Charles turned to stare out of the hotel room window. In the distance, he could make out the sharp protrusion of the Washington monument in the skyline of the District, and an old ache he thought he had successfully swallowed away years ago rose in a tight knot in his throat. “It’s not a question of whether they’ll turn up,” he said at last. “It’s whether we can make our move before they make theirs.”

“What do you think they’ll do?” Sean’s voice was calm, but his worry was spiking so sharply that it made Charles’ temples throb in sympathy.

“I don’t know, but we’ll make sure it won’t happen,” Charles said, smiling reassuringly at him before picking up the notes for his speech.

***

Charles was not surprised when he heard footsteps outside their room at three in the morning, then a note was slipped under the door. Sean’s bleary eyes widened in alarm when he read the note aloud: “ _'Consider this a warning to stay away from the referendum._ ’’ Professor, they’re planning something!”

“All the more reason I should go,” Charles said calmly, although he was gripping the armrests of his chair tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Five years ago, he would have been dead sure that Erik would never bring down a building with him in it. Of course, that was before the school had been attacked, and before Charles had asked Erik that dreadful, dreadful question - _Was it you?_ \- when the Brotherhood had turned up. On hindsight it was easy enough to explain his state of mind at that time: he had been reeling with shock, fatigue, fear for his students, fury, a pervasive distrust of everyone after having lost the two people most important to him. But he had instantly regretted asking that damning question when he had caught a brief flash of Erik’s startled, stricken expression before it was quickly masked by vapid hostility. 

That expression, though. Charles had seen it before, on the beach that fateful day. _I would harm a million other people before I would knowingly harm you_. But Erik had indeed damaged him, irreparably, and Charles’ faith in him had bled out onto the sand. Could he be blamed for having so little left?

“Professor?” Sean seemed much more awake now. And frightened. “Maybe we should call the police.”

“We’ll inform the FBI,” Charles conceded. “But I refuse to be intimidated, and will still attend.”

***

Wheeling his chair past the shouting, abusive crowd of anti-mutant protesters was easy enough when Charles was busy sweeping the building telepathically for any familiar traces of the Brotherhood instead. He came up empty, although there _was_ a severely increased presence of the Secret Service and the Bureau combined, both inside and outside the building. Sean was back at the hotel, fast asleep. Charles had outright refused to let him come along and get in harm’s way, knocking him out as a last resort. He had faith in Erik, yes, but he was also not in the habit of gambling. 

It was still a while to the start of the referendum, so Charles excused himself to the men’s room and splashed his face with water, just to calm his nerves. The anti-mutant sentiment in the venue wasn’t new to him, but it was the few pitiful glances he received that had unnerved him. He stared at his wet, dripping face in the mirror; at his new height, only his eyes and the bridge of his nose were visible. He shut his eyes and massaged his temples, willing away the impending headache and going through his speech once more.

He was about to reach for his handkerchief when there was a sudden burst of red smoke and sulphur spicing his nostrils. Charles stared in shock at Azazel standing behind him, and there was no time to react before a hard, crimson hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Comrade,” Azazel said almost genially, as if they were crossing paths while strolling in the park, and before Charles could get a grip on Azazel’s mind, he found himself flattened on the floor of a chopper, screaming his lungs out and hanging on for dear life. 

Two sets of hands solidly gripped him and arranged him onto one of the seats, and Emma in her glittering diamond form was calmly strapping him in. “Don’t move or you’ll fall out,” she shouted above the roar of the chopper’s engine.

“Take me back!” Charles demanded. “There are people- We need to warn-”

Blatantly ignoring him, Emma spoke into a walkie talkie. “Janos, I’ve got the precious cargo.”

There was another puff of red smoke as Azazel disappeared for a second time, and Charles was just left with Emma - and the pilot - in the chopper while it slowly descended onto the roof of a nearby building. Above them, another helicopter roared past: Secret Service, although thanks to Emma, the Brotherhood’s chopper had gone completely unnoticed. Desperate, Charles was ready to take over the pilot’s mind, but when he looked over, the curve of a blue, scaly shoulder visible above the seatback stopped him. _Raven?_

There was no answer. 

“I’m going down to let him know,” Emma said as she climbed out of the chopper, before Charles realised she wasn’t addressing him. Azazel returned just in time, grabbing Charles’ wrist, both of them reappearing in a dark, secured room where a heavily muscled man, almost bulky to a cartoonish extent, was pacing. “About time,” the man growled at Azazel, who was depositing Charles in a creaky oak chair. 

Any reply Azazel would have had was cut off by the muffled _BOOM!_ that shook the building, and Charles realised, with a sinking heart, that Erik had carried out his plans to fruition.

*** 

Charles awoke to the warm heat of someone’s palm pressed against his forehead and dead silence, like someone had punched a hole in the darkness. “I will arrange safe passage for you, Sean and Hank back to the school.” Erik’s voice was quiet, subdued.

"Hank?" Alarmed, Charles did a quick mental sweep of the facility, but a brief touch to Hank's mind told him that Hank had come of his own volition, to (unsuccessfully) warn Erik off. The heavy blanket of grief that shrouded Hank's mind quickly evaporated when Hank responded with a joyous, _Professor?_ and only then did Charles realise Hank must have thought he had died in the blast.

 _I'm fine, Hank, I'll come find you in a moment._ But there was only radio silence on Hank's end now, which had Emma's handprints all over it. Sighing, Charles turned his attention back to Erik, who had not moved his hand from Charles' forehead at all.

“How many did you kill?” Charles could feel something burning in the back of his eyes, and he wanted to tell himself it was something to do with the senseless loss of life, and not the tender, much-missed way Erik was stroking his brow.

“It seems the FBI were informed beforehand.” There was a conspicuous absence of surprise in Erik’s voice. “They were in the midst of evacuating the building after discovering the C4.”

Charles’ sigh of relief was soft, shaky. The silence between them stretched out like long, silvery cobwebs. “You got me out.”

“A mere courtesy.” Withdrawing his hand, Erik's voice was getting distant now. “Good night, Charles.”

“Erik?” It at least halted his departing footsteps, and there was a soft rustle before the floodgates opened, and _oh_ the beautiful rush of Erik’s mind wrapped around his like a physical embrace, and Charles couldn’t hold back the heat burning behind his eyes and thought, _I shouldn’t have doubted you, I shouldn’t_ , and Erik’s last lingering thought, _a million others before I hurt you_ , and then Charles was alone again as Erik closed the door behind him.


End file.
